


Hey brother, there's an endless road to rediscover

by miraeyeteeth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dimension Travel, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Queerplatonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28022994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraeyeteeth/pseuds/miraeyeteeth
Summary: A familiar face shows up at the Archives. There's just one small problem; he's supposed to be dead.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Danny Stoker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by discussions within The Magnus Writers discord channel, special thanks to ArtificialDaydreams for the initial concept.

The Archives were a bit spooky when he was all on his own, Martin had to admit. It didn't happen very often, but today Sasha had left early for a dentist appointment, Tim was out doing follow-up work, and the three of them had actually managed to pressure Jon into staying home today after he'd came in yesterday with a horribly runny nose and a wet, phlegmy cough that sounded like his lungs were attempting to escape from his body. Cold and flu season was well and truly upon them now.

Martin wasn't even sure what it was about the Archives that unsettled him, but it had the hair on the back of his neck prickling while he fruitlessly attempted to focus on his work. Just another forty minutes, then he could go home.

_ No one would need to know if you just left a little early _ , one part of his brain supplied, but he squashed that idea. Jon already thought he was incompetent, the last thing he needed was word to get back to the man that he was skiving off. Martin needed this job.

"Excuse me?" an unexpected voice interrupted Martin's thoughts and he jerked in surprise, loudly cracking his knee against the underside of his desk.

"Ow, I, what? What's--" Martin snapped his head around to look at the rather haggard-looking man standing in the entrance to the Archives. "I, I mean, can I help you?"

The man winced sympathetically. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. This is where I should give my statement, right?"

"Um, normally, yes, but I'm afraid our archivist isn't here at the moment. If… if you like you're welcome to make a written statement? One second, I'll get the form," Martin replied, plunging into one haphazard stack of papers until he found a copy of the intake form for statements. He grabbed one of the scattered ballpoint pens on his desk and walked over to the newcomer, holding both items out. "Here you go. Sorry, uh, about the mess."

The man took the offered form and pen and glanced briefly at the mounds of papers scattered around them. "Oh, it's not that bad. You should see the state of my flat," he replied wryly, before his expression fell. "Well, probably not anymore."

Would it be insensitive to ask about the details when telling his story was what the man came for? Martin decided it was probably better not to push his luck. "You can use that desk," Martin said, gesturing, and the man nodded and sat down.

Martin went back to his own desk, turning back to his work after taking another look at the newcomer. He was younger than Martin had initially assumed; dirt and stubble and dark circles under his eyes seemed to conspire to make him look a good decade older at first glance. He was wearing surprisingly light clothing for a blustery February day; tattered jeans, a windbreaker, and hiking boots. The only other thing he seemed to have with him was the backpack he'd set down on the floor beside the desk.

He seemed vaguely familiar, but Martin couldn't pin down how. Maybe it was just that haunted look that people with statements tended to have.

After almost a half hour, the man set down the pen. He gathered up the pages he'd written on and handed them back to Martin. "Okay, done. Now what?"

"Now... you can go?" Martin replied.

The man blinked. "I… I was told that I might be able to get help here? With something supernatural that happened to me?"

"Oh! Yes, of course, sorry. We can look into possible causes, explanations, and potential solutions for you. We… ah, usually we take a while to complete the investigation and follow-up, but it's possible there's something I can do for you now, if it's urgent?"

The man sighed. "I don't know if there's really a solution to this. From what I can tell, I've lost about four years."

"Lost…?"

He gestured at the papers in Martin's hand. "That explains it more, but the gist of it is that I went spelunking in May 2012, found some weird, out of place door, and by the time I found a way out of whatever that place was, it was suddenly February 2016."

"Oh! That sounds… I'm not really sure there's anything we can do about that."

"Well, I wasn't expecting you folks to have some kind of convenient time machine. Though I won't turn it down if you do," the man replied, cracking a smile. The niggling feeling of some kind of familiarity or deja vu grew stronger. "I was just… hoping you might have some resources for getting back on my feet? I don't… it's been four years, so obviously I don't have a flat anymore, or a job, I think my bank account's been frozen, and even if I hadn't lost my mobile in the caves, I wouldn't have any service because I haven't been paying the bills. I can't remember any of the numbers of my contacts, and I'm not sure they would even believe me if I managed to call them. I had to hitchhike just to get back to London, and I don't have much but the clothes on my back. Is there maybe a support network for this kind of thing, or…?"

Martin shook his head. "I'm sorry, but we don't have anything like that."

"Oh." The weariness returned, making the man's shoulders slump. "Well, do you suppose I could get directions to the nearest homeless shelter?"

"I…" Martin hesitated, glancing at the clock. This was probably a bad idea. But Martin had read about so many horrible things happening to so many people, and he was heartsick about not being able to help any of them. In this situation, he could maybe make a difference. "I can get you directions, if you want. But you could also… stay with me? Just for a few days, until we can get a hold of your family? I'm finished my shift now, and we're- we're supposed to do follow-up interviews after some of the statements, anyway. Since you don't have any fixed address or phone number right now, it would help our records if I knew how to keep track of you."

The man blinked. "You… are you sure? You don't even know me," he said.

Martin shrugged, and glanced at the statement he'd been handed. "Sure I do. You're Daniel, right?"

The man managed another smile. "My friends call me Danny."

"Danny, then."

* * *

"Well, this is it," Martin said, opening the door to his flat and ushering Danny inside. 

The flat was small, festooned with an assortment of ancient appliances and a wide variety of scuffs, dents, and scrapes that came from being host to a long string of renters that had cycled through and had to figure out how to get their furniture inside every time. It wasn't exactly the Ritz, but Martin was privately glad it was relatively clean, with only a few dishes in the sink and no laundry scattered on the floor. Most importantly, despite having a poorly-set window that leaked cold air into his flat, it was still warmer than the outside.

As Martin had expected, his new houseguest was not dressed for the weather, and he was visibly shivering by the time they managed to reach Martin's flat from the tube station. "I'll put on some tea, that should warm you up. Um, the bathroom is the first door on the left, if you'd like to take a hot shower. Your clothes are probably soaked; you can borrow my bathrobe, if you want? It's just hanging on the door."

Danny nodded, rubbing his arms. "A shower sounds incredible right about now. I… Thank you, for this. It's very kind of you."

"It's not a problem. Go get warm," Martin replied, waving Danny off towards the bathroom.

Martin put the kettle on, quickly scrubbed the dishes he'd left in the sink, and went to unfold his sofa into a bed. He'd bought this piece of furniture specially, thinking that he could stay on it and let his mother have the bedroom when she came to visit.

This would be the first time it would actually see some use. At least it turned out to be good for something.

Martin had laid out sheets and blankets on the bed and set the tea to steep in its pot by the time that Danny came out of the bathroom, wrapped up in Martin's soft terrycloth bathrobe. 

"Wow, you have no idea how much I needed that," he said, running a hand through his still slightly damp hair. "I feel ten times better now."

"That's good! Do you still want a cup of tea?" Martin asked.

"I would die for a cup of tea right now."

"Well, there's no need for that. Sit down, I'll pour you some," Martin replied, motioning at his kitchen table. Danny obliged. "Do you want any milk or sugar?"

"No, black is fine. You're a saint," Danny said, as he wrapped his hands around the hot cup of tea. "I'm serious. Is there a way to nominate someone for sainthood? Because you really need to be in the running."

"I don't think that's how saints work," Martin said with some amusement, settling at the table with his own mug.

"Well, it should be. Taking in some scruffy nobody with an incredibly crazy story isn't something that many people would do. I'll figure out how to pay you back somehow, I promise."

"It's fine. You should focus on getting your feet under you first. Speaking of, do you have any idea of where we could start looking for your family? Maybe they still live at the same address?"

Danny smiled fondly, staring off at some point past the table. "If there's anyone who I can rely on for help, it's my older brother. He's always been incredibly dependable and focused. Always knew just what he wanted out of life, and went for it. Solid, someone I could always go to, no matter how crazy every other part of my life became. I actually went to his place right after I got back to London, before I went to the Institute, but he wasn't there; it was some random guy. He must have moved, but I don't know where. I don't even know if he's still in London."

"Well, we can try tracking him down through the phone book, or public records. You'd be surprised how often I've had to find someone just based on a name. Sometimes we don't even have a last name for them."

"That sounds like it would be almost impossible."

"Pretty much. But I got a few good conversations out of it, so it wasn't all bad. So what's your brother's--" Martin's question was cut off by the sound of Danny's stomach growling. "Maybe we can have supper first?"

"That would be great," Danny agreed. "Speaking of, I don't mean to kick you out of your kitchen if you don't like other people using it, but I could make supper if you like? I spent a good couple of months training under a bunch of chefs three... er, seven years ago, and I like to think I'm a pretty decent cook. And taking care of some of the chores here is the least I could do."

Martin thought about his freezer of ready-made meals and grimaced. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't think I really have many ingredients for anything."

"Mind if I take a look?"

Martin cringed internally at the idea of Danny looking through his cupboards and judging him. But if Danny was going to be staying here for any length of time, he would figure out Martin's standard diet soon enough anyway. Might as well rip that bandaid off. "If you want, but don't get your hopes up," Martin replied.

Danny downed the last dregs of his tea and got up to rifle through Martin's cupboards. Martin refused to look up from his tea, bracing for the sounds of disappointment.

"Oh, there's plenty here! How do you feel about fried rice?" Danny called.

"I- what? Fine, I guess?" Martin answered, finally looking over to see Danny unearthing a half bag of white rice, a battered carton of eggs some wilted carrots from his crisper drawer, a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, and a handful of assorted condiment bottles Martin vaguely remembered buying at some point.

"Great! Give me about forty five minutes and I'll have supper ready to eat," Danny replied, before delving into Martin's cupboards once more.

* * *

The fried rice turned out to be surprisingly good, and for dessert Danny had somehow transmuted some of Martin's canned peaches and instant oats into an impressively delectable cobbler.

Martin leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. He couldn't remember the last time someone had cooked for him, outside of at a restaurant. It really did make the food taste better. "That was great."

"That's good to hear. I'm glad I haven't gotten rusty," Danny replied. "Thanks for letting me use your kitchen. And your food."

"I'm happy to. I don't think there would have been a better use for it than that."

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

Martin smiled. "Now that we aren't going to wither away, we should get back to figuring out how to find your brother."

"Right, yeah. His name is Tim- or, Timothy, I guess, officially, Stoker."

Martin suddenly lurched forward in his seat, making Danny flinch in surprise. "Tim? Tim Stoker?" he asked, staring hard at Danny. The tilt of the chin, the curve of the nose; that was why he seemed so familiar.

"Uh, yeah?" Danny replied, apprehensive.

"Is he-- hold on, I've got a picture," Martin mumbled, fumbling for his phone and rapidly flipping through the photos on it before he came to a selfie he'd taken with the other Archival assistants on their first day. "Is this him?"

"Holy shit, it is! You know him?" Danny exclaimed.

"I work with him! You just barely missed him; you would have met him yourself if you'd come to the Institute some other day."

"Jeez. Small world," Danny said, flopping back in his seat. He stared up at the ceiling. "You said he works at the Institute? He isn't, I don't know, just there to collect some information or stories or something?"

"I mean, collecting information  _ is _ what we do."

"Yeah, but I meant not as an employee, as an independent consultant or interviewer or something. The last time I saw Tim, he was working his way up the ladder in publishing. He really seemed to love it. I don't know why he'd be working at the Magnus Institute now," Danny remarked, then he winced and looked at Martin again. "Er, no offense! You're clearly doing valuable work, it just doesn't seem like something Tim would be interested in."

"Hm. I'm afraid I don't know what brought Tim to the Institute. He never really talked much about his past to me. But you can ask him tomorrow."

Danny straightened up and smiled. The family resemblance struck Martin immediately, and he was surprised he hadn't managed to work it out before. "Yeah, you're right. No matter what, it'll be good to see Tim again."

* * *

Martin had lent Danny one of his spare coats for the trip back to the Institute.

"Thanks again for putting me up for the night. And helping me find my brother. You really saved me," Danny said, as they rode the train into Chelsea.

"It really wasn't any trouble! And don't be a stranger, all right? Once you get a phone again, get in touch with me. You know where to find me," Martin replied, then paused. "Um. That is, if you want. Don't feel like you have to, or anything."

"Of course I want to. What kind of idiot would pass up a friend like you?" Danny asked.

Martin could feel himself blush.

* * *

Tim was just setting his bag down on his desk when they arrived, and he glanced over at the sound of their footsteps. His gaze landed on Danny and he froze. For an extended moment, Tim just stood there, eyes wide, not even seeming to breathe.

"Ahah, um, hi. Long time no see?" Danny finally said, spreading open his arms as if to invite a hug.

That jerked Tim out of his frozen state, and he lurched forward. Instead of going for his brother, though, he grabbed Martin by the arm. "Jesus Christ Martin, get away from it!" he exclaimed, dragging Martin backwards until he'd put the desks between them and Danny.

"Tim, what-?!" Martin asked, but Tim had already let go of him and was looking around frantically.

"Godammit, we're dealing with all this spooky shit and they don't give us any bloody weapons," he muttered to himself, grabbing a heavy chunk of marble that Sasha used as a paperweight.

"Tim, look, I'm sorry I disappeared for so long but I-" Danny started to say, but then his eyes widened and he had to dive to one side when Tim hefted the paperweight and threw it right at his head.

"Tim! What the hell, stop that!" Martin exclaimed, leaping forward to grab at Tim's arm before he threw anything else.

"Let go of me! That thing is dangerous, can't you see that?" Tim snapped.

"Tim, he's your brother!"

" _ That _ isn't Danny! Danny's dead, I saw him die! That thing is just some monster wearing his skin!"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Tim, I-" Danny started to say.

"Don't call me that! Don't you dare call me that!" Tim snarled.

Danny took a step backwards, his expression unreadable. "All right. I… I'm sorry," he said, and then he turned and disappeared through the doorway.

"Danny, wait!" Martin called out, and went to follow him out. Tim wrapped his hand around Martin's wrist, bringing him up short.

"Don't. Don't follow that thing, Martin," he said gravely. "I mean it. It's dangerous."

Martin paused for a moment to think. Danny's story  _ was _ pretty far-fetched, but so were the majority of the statements. But it was a pretty massive coincidence, meeting someone at random who was apparently Tim's brother. It wasn't exactly a secret that Tim worked at the Institute, it was certainly possible that the meeting could have been orchestrated, somehow.

But for what purpose? If this was some kind of conspiracy, surely the people behind the scenes would have guessed how Tim would react? What was the point of disguising something as Danny, and having it act entirely amiably and harmlessly while it had Martin isolated, only to have the ruse immediately found out the second it met Tim?

It didn't add up. Martin didn't know what was going on, but he wanted to know.

And if Danny really  _ was _ who he claimed to be, he didn't have anyone to turn to. Where would he go?

"... I'm sorry, Tim, but I need to go. I'll be careful, all right?" Martin said, pulling his wrist free.

Tim clenched his jaw and looked like he wanted to grab Martin again. Instead he let out an aggravated huff of breath. "Fine, if you have that much of a death wish. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Martin just shrugged and took off in pursuit of Danny.

* * *

Danny hadn't gone very far. Martin found him in an alley near the Institute, huddled against a wall with his face pressed into his knees.

"Danny?"

Danny jerked at the sound, raising his head. His cheeks were wet, and he hastily scrubbed at them with the back of his hand. "Martin? What are you- oh, shit, I stole your coat. Sorry, I didn't think about- " he said, unfolding up into a standing position and starting to shrug out of the garment.

Martin stepped forward and took hold of both sides of the coat, pulling them back shut over Danny's chest. "I'm not worried about that."

"Oh. All right?" Danny said. There was a moment of awkward silence. "So you came out here for some other reason, then?"

"I was worried about you."

"Why?" he asked.

"Why? What do you mean, why? Because your brother just attacked you."

"Yeah. And you know Tim, right? Better than you know some stranger you met yesterday. He seemed pretty sure that I wasn't who I said I was. And he's the one who's actually been here for the last four years. He's probably right," Danny said flatly.

Martin let go of the coat and took a step back. "But you think that you're Danny, don't you?"

Danny shrugged. "Yeah, but I also think that I somehow stumbled through some kind of time rift to get here. It doesn't seem very plausible, does it? Maybe I really am just something that thinks it's Danny."

"That's…"

Danny smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "It's all right. It's not your problem. You already went above and beyond, all right? Thanks for looking after me, and… thanks for the coat, I guess. Unless you want it back after all?"

"What?" Martin asked.

Danny stooped down to pick up his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder. "I'm going to get out of your hair, so this is goodbye. And the last chance to get your coat back. I probably don't actually need it, so you don't need to feel bad about taking it."

"You- what? No! That's not happening! Where are you even planning to go?"

Danny just shrugged, and that was all the answer Martin needed.

"Look, I don't know what's going on. I don't know why Tim reacted the way he did. But I don't think you're a monster. And I don't want you to go. Just… come back home, all right? We'll try to figure out what happened. And you can always leave later, if you want."

"You want me to still stay with you?" Danny asked, sounding skeptical. "Look, even leaving aside the 'likely a monster' thing, this isn't a situation where you're going to be able to put me up for a few nights and solve everything. Tim is… well, you saw him, and my parents aren't going to help either. I don't have anyone else to turn to. Trying to get my life back together and become independent again would probably take months. I can't ask you to do that for me."

Martin sighed. "I  _ want _ to help. It's not… if it helps, then you can look at it this way. If it ever seems like you're too much of a burden, you can always leave then. And in the meantime, you can work to get things as sorted out as possible, so it'll be easier when you do leave."

"... You're sure?"

"I am. Come on, let's get you back home."

Danny hesitated a moment longer, biting his lip. Then he let out a long, shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping. "Okay."

* * *

Martin took Danny back to his flat, opening the door to let him in. "I need to go back to work. Stay here, all right? I'll come back in the evening. Maybe use the laptop to look up how to get your bank account unfrozen and get new IDs and everything?"

Danny nodded, but didn't really seem to be seeing anything in the flat. "I think I'm going to go lie down for a while," he said distantly.

"All right, that's a good idea too. See you tonight?"

Danny nodded once before walking into the flat, removing his shoes, and collapsing on the sofa bed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Tim stared warily at Martin when he walked back into the Archives. Martin just shrugged. "I didn't find it," he said, pulling off his knitted hat. "It must have gotten away."


	2. Chapter 2

Martin hesitated for a moment at his flat’s door. He was afraid to open it, to reveal a quiet and empty home. If Danny had left, if he had vanished into the city, Martin would never be able to find him. This short chapter of Martin's life would be over, without any answers or closure...

Martin took a deep breath and unlocked the door, pushing it open.

The flat was dark and quiet, but the light falling through the open door was enough to make out the silhouette of Danny lying prone on the sofa bed.

Martin thought he was still asleep, but when he attempted to quietly step inside and shut the door, Danny rolled over to look at him. "Hi."

"Ah, sorry. Did I wake you?" Martin asked.

"No, I've been awake for a while now."

"Oh," Martin said, and there was a moment of awkward silence. "Is it okay if I turn on the lights?"

"Yeah, go ahead. I should get up anyway."

Danny clambered to his feet as Martin flicked the lights on. "Are you holding up all right?" Martin asked.

"Not really. But short of lying down and dying or trying to find that weird door again, there's not really any option but to keep moving forward, is there?” Danny replied, staring off blankly into space. Then he sighed, shook his head, and turned his attention back to Martin. “It’ll be okay. I’ll figure something out.”

"It isn’t… Tim will come around, I'm sure. If we give him some time," Martin said.

"...well, we can hope,” Danny said, and swiftly changed the topic. "In any case, I didn’t really do much in the way of cooking today, but we should have enough leftovers from last night to get us through supper. How about you put on the kettle while I get the rest of it sorted?”

By the time that the food had been reheated and the table set, Danny had transformed back into the chipper guy he’d been that morning, animatedly relating the story of one of his modelling shoots where the costumes, photographer, and models all managed to get sent to different locations from one another and culminating in them needing to shoot in the designer's sister's garden rather than the Royal Botanical Gardens. "It was all a bit of a nightmare, honestly, but the team was good and it wasn't all bad; afterward I got to swing by T-" Danny faltered for a second, a sad expression flickering over his face before he shook his head. "Got to visit a friend in the area and grab a drink together. Amazing how just being able to talk to someone can make things better sometimes," he continued.

Martin knew avoidance when he saw it. Better not to press it for the moment, he decided. "Did the photos turn out well, at least?" he asked.

"They did, but that was mostly thanks to the editors we had. They're real miracle workers sometimes."

* * *

Martin went to work the next day, leaving Danny with the spare key to his flat so the man could go out and about and see about cobbling his life back together.

He was pretty sure that he could have afforded to call out, take one of his sick days and help Danny with his task, but Danny wouldn’t hear of it.

“Oh no, you’ve done enough for me as it is. I’m not gonna have you risking trouble with your job for my sake. I’ll be fine,” Danny said, steering him out the door. “I’m an adult, I can take care of myself.”

“You’re sure?” Martin asked.

“Positive. Now, off you go.”

Martin went. A part of him was still worried that Danny might vanish without explanation or answer if he was left alone, but Martin did have a long list of tasks to complete in the Archives. Besides, he could maybe use the resources they had to figure out just what had happened to Danny. Tim had been unhelpful when Martin tried to ask more about the situation. 

"It doesn't matter. All you need to know is that thing wasn't Danny, and that if you ever see it again you should run," was the only reply Martin got to his attempted inquiries yesterday.

Which obviously wasn't good enough. Once he managed to untangle this mess, he was sure he'd be able help Tim and Danny both.

* * *

When Martin opened the door to his flat that night, he opened it to a home where the lights were already on and he could hear a clatter and a cheerful hum from his kitchen.

“Oh, Martin! Welcome home!” Danny called, taking the very few steps it took to be able to see Martin’s front door from the kitchen. The sight of him made Martin pause, bemused. Danny was wearing a pair of violently orange basketball shorts and an oversized brown jumper with a large hole at the left shoulder seam. “I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t ask you before; do you have any allergies or food sensitivities? I didn’t want to make something you couldn’t eat.”

“Um, no, not that I’m aware of?” Martin replied.

“Great!” Danny disappeared back into the kitchen, and Martin followed after him. A large pile of groceries was strewn across Martin’s counter; peppers and eggplants and a cabbage, two slabs of cheese, five punnets of strawberries, three squashed loaves of bread, four boxes of cereal bars, a bag of rice, apples, bananas, tomatoes, and six heads of cauliflower, just at a first glance. “I couldn’t find any flour, but I managed to get a pretty good haul aside from that. I was thinking about a pizza with cauliflower crust, what do you think?”

“Danny, what’s… I thought you didn’t have any money? Where did all this food come from?” Martin asked, mystified.

“Oh, this is just the stuff I could find when I went dumpster diving. You’d be amazed at the things the shops just throw away,” Danny replied. 

“This… this all came out of a skip?” Martin asked, looking over the stuff piled on the kitchen counter. The boxes and packaging were a bit dinged, and the bananas were pretty brown, but nothing seemed inedible or rotten or even dirty.

“Yeah! There’s plenty of stuff that gets chucked out for being a little bruised or banged up or close to the sell-by date. I used to be able to cut down my grocery bill to almost nothing, some months. Figured I should contribute to the household some, y’know?”

“Oh, you didn’t have to--”

“It’s no trouble. I don’t know what kind of salary you get at the Institute, but I know rent in London isn't cheap, and I don't want to put extra strain on your finances. But, uh, if the idea of food that came from a skip bothers you, then you don't need to eat any," Danny added.

"Honestly, this stuff looks better than most of the things in my fridge right now," Martin replied. "And pizza sounds good. Do you need any help?"

"I could use some! How about you start grating the cheese while I get the vegetables chopped?"

"Can do," Martin agreed, opening two cupboards before managing to remember where he actually stored his cheese grater. "Out of curiosity, did the clothes come out of a skip, too?"

"Nah. Well, not really. Clothing stores generally send their unsold stuff to outlets or destroy it before they throw it out, so there's not a lot of opportunities. But charity shops usually set aside the stuff they can't sell for recycling, and I asked if I could look through what they had. The guy manning the store didn't mind, and I managed to find some things that would fit. And I think I pull it off pretty well, all things considered.”

"It definitely makes a statement!" Martin replied, then sighed. "I'm sorry, though, I should have probably offered you some of my clothes. They'd be a little big, but... I didn't even think about it."

Danny shook his head. "It's fine. You're doing enough as it is, and besides, it's nice to have something that I can call my own."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Martin agreed, as he pulled off the wrapping on the cheese. "Do we need to preheat the oven or anything?"

* * *

"You're all right on your own again?" Martin asked, come morning.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Danny replied as he herded Martin towards the door.

"Okay. I'm probably going to be going out to do some follow-up on some of our statements today; it might take me a fair amount of the evening. Don't wait up for me."

"Mhm. I'll be sure not to throw any wild parties while you're away."

Martin chuckled. "I'd hope that I'd at least be invited if you did."

"You'd be top of the guest list. Good luck with tracking down whatever you're after," Danny replied.

"Thanks. See you," Martin said, and the door clicked shut behind him.

Danny couldn't deny that it was a bit of a relief to finally let the cheery smile drop off his face. He blew out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

Yesterday had been… well, a bit shit, really. Danny hadn’t thought that one of the things that would give him the most trouble, coming back, was that he had dropped his wallet in a crevice in the caves before he had even found the door. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal at the time. Sure, he’d lost about twenty pounds and would need to get his cards reissued, but it wasn’t likely anyone was going to find his wallet and make charges on his cards, a hundred feet below the earth.

But now with no bank card, no I.D., and no way to access his passport, bank statements, or anything else to help prove his identity, things were significantly more complicated. The DVLA might possibly be able to reissue his driver's license just from the photo they had on file, but they wanted the fee for that paid with a credit or debit card, which Danny didn't have.

And Danny couldn't get a new credit or debit card from his bank because he didn't have any I.D. Hell, he might not even have a bank account any more, and if he did what little funds he had in it had probably been eaten away by fees in the last four years. He couldn't open a new bank account, because of the I.D. issue.

Of course, Martin had a bank card, and Danny had no doubts that Martin would pay for him to get his license, if Danny asked...

But Danny had already asked so much of Martin as it was. He shouldn't put this on him as well.

On top of all that, even if he  _ could _ figure out how to pay the fee at the DVLA, apparently they wanted a record of where he had lived for the last three years. What was he supposed to put down for that?

In short, he was fucked.

Dwelling on the realities of the situation was making anxiety rise up in his chest, oppressive and choking.  _ You're not supposed to be here, you're supposed to be gone. The records of you, your accomplishments, any mark you left on the world, gone. There's nothing here for you now, the government knows it, the banks know it,  _ **_Tim_ ** _ knows it. You should just disappear for good this time. _

Danny shoved the thoughts down, dragging air into his lungs and whirling around to snatch up his borrowed coat. He couldn't stay here right now, couldn't think about this, he had to keep moving.

He could do more dumpster diving, more scavenging. He could at least contribute to the flat that way, could make some kind of a mark of his existence. He'd managed to make Martin smile, yesterday.

And besides, maybe he could even find something he could put up for sale on gumtree. Or find enough lost change to be able to make a phone call. Stella's business number was still posted online. He could get a hold of her, and maybe she'd know about some work that would pay in cash. Then he'd at least be able to pay Martin back if he asked for help paying for things.

Danny locked up the flat and walked out into the street. The falling rain was wet and cold and miserable, but Danny took some solace in knowing that at least it didn't pass through him.

* * *

Martin scrambled through the door to the flat hours after Danny had gotten back. He threw a nervous glance into the corridor behind him before quickly closing the door and locking it.

Martin's skin was ashy, pale, and slightly shiny with perspiration despite the chill outside. His breaths came out shallow and shaky.

"Are you all right?" Danny asked, taking a few steps towards him. He couldn't see any injuries, but...

Martin flinched at the sound of Danny's voice, snapping his attention to him before letting out a sigh and relaxing slightly. "Um, I think so? Kind of? Not really," Martin answered, unhelpfully. "This… This probably sounds stupid, but could you help me check that I don't have any worms on me?"

"Worms?"

"Yeah. Little silver ones, got a black end on them. Just… look over my back, if you could? I don't..."

"Yeah, sure, turn around," Danny replied, when it seemed like Martin wasn't going to elaborate further. He looked Martin over when he complied, and briskly frisked him, smoothing out any folds in his clothes to remove any potential hiding spots. As he did so, he could feel the way that Martin shivered intermittently under his hands. "All clear, it seems like. Are you... Should we go to the hospital or anything?"

"No. I'm… I'll be fine. Just need to… get some sleep, I think," Martin said.

"All right. You wanna eat something first?" Danny asked, taking a step back as Martin turned toward him again. "There's still leftovers."

Martin looked queasy just at the mention of food. "No. Maybe in the morning."

* * *

It was still dark when Danny woke up. He fumbled blearily at his watch, squinting at the briefly illuminated green numbers. Almost six in the morning, assuming his watch was right. Funny, the most functional thing he owned now, the one thing that had made it through the twisting kaleidoscope tunnels with him, was a £12 watch from Argos.

He wasn't sure what had woken him; he didn't hear anything from Martin's bedroom, so it probably hadn't been him. Attempting to roll over and go back to sleep was a bust; some kind of nervous energy seemed unwilling to let him drift back into unconsciousness. Danny finally sighed and swung his legs over the side of the sofa bed. He might as well get started on breakfast; Martin would probably be hungry when he woke up.

He felt along the wall for the light switch, flipped it, and… nothing. Just blown fuse, or was the power out for the whole building? Maybe the sound of a transformer blowing had been what woke him up?

Danny was just about to try to go back to sleep when he heard the knocking. Someone at the door to the flat, asking to be let in. Probably a neighbor, here to ask if their power was also off.

He should answer the door now. Send them away before they woke up Martin, who could probably use the sleep.

There was still some dim light in the flat, filtering in through the window, but apparently not enough, because Danny managed to very solidly whack his shin against the edge of the coffee table as he headed for the door. Pain burst through his tibia, bringing him up short as he reflexively stooped to clutch at his leg.

"Ah, ow, ow, damn," Danny hissed through his teeth, and the knocking came again.

"Just… just a minute!" Danny called, trying to pitch his voice loud enough to carry through the door but not to disturb Martin. Probably a lost cause at this point, but at least he tried. Danny straightened up and hobbled the last few steps to the door, reaching for the deadbolt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ixempt for helping to beta read this chapter!


End file.
